


The World As We See It

by keiimos



Series: The World Keeps Turning On Its Axis [4]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Cold War, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Historical, M/M, Past Abuse, Physical Abuse, Platonic Male/Male Relationships, Temporary Character Death, mentions of abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-30
Updated: 2015-01-30
Packaged: 2018-03-09 15:58:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3255794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keiimos/pseuds/keiimos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How mutual need for support turned to a friendship that lasted through the ages. Seen from the sides of India and Russia, and their counterparts, Pakistan and China. The irony is that often we push away those we want, and find comfort in other people. </p><p>(Set directly after the Partition of India and covers major events in South Asian history)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Courtship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He has to make his own way in the world by whatever means necessary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> During this time period aka Cold War Era, India was all about not really picking sides until events happened that made that impossible. So between America and the Soviet Union, the choice was clear. Especially given who America showed favor towards.
> 
> Pakistan is [Shilly’s OC ](http://nekotalia.tumblr.com/)who she lets me use in my fanfics. Akmal’s name was formerly Aahan Roy back when he was still underneath British rule. His changing of his name felt like a slap in the face to Nalin. Emran’s name also changed. It was Udit Roy back in British Raj times and from the Mughal Empire times as well. Emran has featured in a few other fics I've written as well! Nalin’s full name is actually Nalin Muskan Roy. More information about the South Asian nations OCs mentioned can be found over on the [APH South Asia Blog.](http://aphsouthasia.tumblr.com/bios)

 

_1947_

 

To show weakness now would do him no favors, so Nalin keeps up a steady head as he steps into the meeting room for nations. He stands tall now as he could not before. His people are his own, his land is his own, he is his _own_. He is free and alive, for now.  His body is remaking itself; it has no choice with his lands having been taken from him, and his people disowning him in favor of another. He doesn’t think the transition will ever end, he doesn’t think the pain will ever stop. It’s almost too much.

Almost, but not quite. An end comes to all things eventually.

Yet, he never considered that it would come to this. Freedom, always, always, had a price, he knew that well. And he was willing to pay it. He has paid for it now, and the only regret he has is that he never got to hit that arrogant child one last time. Wipe that self-occupied look off his face and make him see that his actions had consequences.

The folly of children is that that they don’t have to think on the future. The one calling himself _Pakistan_ doesn’t think on the fresh scars he has left on his older brother. Doesn’t think on anything but his own satisfaction. And people expect him to deal with such a child? After all that has happened, he refuses.

All that matters is his place at the table now, and the countries that have been smiling his way, hoping to gain something from him, wanting to give him favors in return for his. He’ll use them, each and every one to build back up his country, his people.

He will rise again and prove that no matter what, he will survive and outlast them all.

 

_1954_

 

Yao’s hair is caught back in a red ribbon, and his clothes are formal. Nalin doesn’t pay any mind to the other people in the room. What matters is the paper in front of him, and the fact that he doesn’t want to sign it at all. This won’t be enough to stop Yao’s ambitions, his government’s plots. It’s a document with only no real promise behind it.

“You’re stalling,” Yao notes under his breath. He _is_ paying attention to the people around them. He’s putting on a grand display of power. Nalin hopes he chokes on the feeling. He remembers what that had been like. All that strength, all that energy from a strong force backing each word and command you could give. Yao is a _threat_. The whole world has switched to threats and underhanded deals that carry the weight of nuclear weapons with them. He can’t stand it.

He needs to get _stronger_. That in mind, he signs the document. At least his prime minister is not so foolish as to think this actually means anything, with communists at their borders who are just looking for an excuse to take more and more.

Nalin wants to get stronger so he can protect what matters to him.

Yao’s smile is sharp when he sets down the pen. His brown eyes don’t contain any of his former warmth. He barely recognizes his old neighbor, consumed by power as he is.

 

He keeps tabs on Pakistan’s relations, of course. America has taken an extreme interest in his little brother. It’s unbecoming on how close of friends they’ve become. The boy who sat quietly at his side during meetings when he could be bothered to attend, is now gossiping loudly and trading secrets with one of the biggest threats to the world at the moment. Nalin is wary.

He is alarmed when talks turn to training soldiers and sending equipment and military support. There is only one person that Pakistan could want to fight, and Nalin needs to be able to crush him when that time comes. He can settle for nothing less.

So he turns his attention to the north, to that mighty giant that he hadn’t considered would rise to such prominence.

 

_1955_

 

It’s almost like a courtship. Showing interest in becoming friends with the intention of getting favors in return.

The USSR isn’t what he expected. The country is large and vast. He becomes aware of how small his own land is compared to it during the tour. There are so many people at Soviet Union’s house that he almost feels jealous of what he once had but no longer. All his siblings have left him, shunned him, and mock him behind his back. They have all betrayed him.

“Thank you for visiting,” the Soviet Union says when he prepares to leave to go back home. “You have been an entertaining guest.”

He seems sincere, so Nalin tries to copy that sincerity when he invites him to visit anytime. He doesn’t expect much to come of it, and is already making plans for other ways for the USSR to see the benefit of helping to support his country.

“Anytime?” he repeats.

“Yes, we would love to have you.”

His purple eyes seem to brighten at that, and Nalin feels his hard smile gentle a bit.

“I will come then.”

 

And come he does, with promises, and words of support. He even says that he can understand his pain over the situation with Kashmir.

“How sad it is,” USSR says as they sit and have tea outside, “when siblings cannot get along.”

“Do you get along with all of your siblings, then?”

“We share a home. My sisters are my home.”

“But that doesn’t mean you get along with them.”

“You have many more siblings that I do. There are clashes of personality that cannot be so easily fixed.”

He hadn’t spent much time in USSR’s home and thus hadn’t seen much of the nations living with him but, “That’s because what makes me happy does not make them happy. I would love to live in a large house with all of them, to see them each and everyday, but we are all our own separate nations, with our own homes, and our own people.”

“Then why do you flinch at Pakistan’s name?”

He tries and fails to hide that unconscious movement, conscious now of it, and settles on a glare, his first at USSR, “I think we should not talk about him.”

“Tell me about your siblings, the ones who aren’t him, then. You met my sisters, but I have not met your siblings,” he sounds so sincere and slightly apologetic that Nalin forgives him for now.

He decides to be kind and not mention that that is because none would dare to spend so much time in his company openly out of free of their intentions being misunderstood. His intentions are already out there. He needs the support of one of the bigger nations, and he also does not want to be drawn into their war. He will only accept manipulation up to a point. He has had _enough_ of being tossed around and thrown aside by white nations. He will sell himself, set aside his values, but only up to a certain point. He knows his worth, the value he has to offer.

“My siblings? I suppose I could,” he thinks of which siblings he can speak of without having to mention _Pakistan_. Udit, or Emran as he prefers to be addressed now, is out of the question. “There is the Kingdom of Bhutan, to the east of here. He is my beloved younger brother.”

“That tells me who he is, but not what he is like,” the blond points out. He’s paying close attention, and Nalin isn’t sure how to deal with so much focus directed his way. He gets up from the table.

“Let me go start another brew for tea. This pot is getting cold.”

“I will be waiting.”

As he makes a fresh batch of chai, he lists his siblings in a rank of easiest to talk about to hardest. He tries to think about what all to say about each of them.

He returns to the outside table, and pours them both fresh cups, “Bhutan’s chosen name is Tashi. It has been that way for a few centuries now.”

“And what is your chosen name?”

He drinks some tea to avoid having to respond, “Didn’t I introduce myself to you properly?”

“Yes, as the Republic of India. And I as the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics. But those are not the names our family call us by. That is not the name you sign on documents.”

He sighs and reluctantly tells him, “Nalin Roy.”

“Ivan Braginsky. How long have you been Nalin?”

“Since before Akbar.”

“Akbar? That sounds familiar . . .”

“He was one of my great Emperors.”

“Ah, what was he like?”

He falls silent. To talk about Akbar would stir up memories best left forgotten to the fog of time, “I thought you wanted to hear about my siblings?”

“This is true. Let’s see, Tashi was it? What is he like?”

“He is quiet, but he has a dry sense of humor that is not dissimilar to my own. He doesn’t really like strangers, so he sticks close to home,” he smiles a bit, “He’s not afraid to get his hands dirty so he can often be found in the fields among his people.”

USSR nods, “He sounds like a hard working young boy.”

Nalin laughs, “He and you are physically close in age, I would guess.”

“I would think you and I were closer in age.”

“I have a youthful appearance. Yao and I are closer in age.”

“If you say so. What of your other siblings?”

“Sana, Maldives, is farther south. She is a sweet girl who has a love of the outdoors. I would think she were a fish if not for the fact that I’ve seen her feet before. Another sibling of mines is also down that way. Sri Lanka, or Keshini. She is committed to opposing me in all things.”

“What an odd thing to say!”

“Is it? If I were to say that the flowers growing over there were a light blue, she’d say that they were a pale blue, just to be difficult.”

“So she is a difficult woman.”

“A scary, difficult one. Among all of us South Asian nations, she is the second oldest and she does everything to act as a big sister should.”

“Reminds me of my little sister,” USSR laughs, “she is very stubborn, I suppose that is what little sisters do!”

“It must be. There is Nepal, or Mahi as she likes to be called now. She’s over to the east, and has been through a lot and it shows. She’s not nearly as stubborn as Keshini, but is pretty close to being there. And,” he hesitates, and continues, “That’s all of them.” It is _not_ , but he cannot speak of the remaining two without pain.

USSR looks at him and he meets his eyes.

“Thank you for sharing that with me. That is what friends must do sometimes, da?” USSR nods in answer to his own question, “It is.”

 

Being USSR’s friend isn’t something he planned on. He seems to mean to pursue an actual strategic partnership and goes to, what seems to Nalin, extremes to prove it. USSR has even started to show him more favor over deals with Yao.

When reports come in that supplies that had been denied to China, have been approved to come to his people, to his soldiers, he has to wonder who’s courting who. He wonders how he can work this to his advantage.

 

_1961_

 

He becomes a recognized leader of the Non-Aligned Movement. It suits his purposes, and he hopes with everything in him that it will work. The last thing he wants to do is to pick a firm side between America and USSR. They’re two sides of the same coin, building up military might, conquering and dealing underhandedly when they can’t conquer. He knows an empire when he sees one, no matter by which name they’ve decided to call themselves by. That much power does nothing but corrupt.

As he concerns himself with his own security, something interesting happens. The soviets and China split from one another after fighting.

“We don’t believe in the same things anymore,” USSR explains, and Nalin can’t decide if he’s seems more sad or angry about it. It is possible to be both, as he well knows.

When had he last thought that himself about someone?

“We can’t always expect to share the same thinking with others,” he settles on saying.

 

After a world meeting, he is stopped by the last person he wants to see.

He doesn’t want to talk to Pakistan and makes no secret of hiding that, instilling each word with cool politeness.

“What is it that you need?”

“We need to work together,” he looks pissed, but that isn’t an unusual expression on his brown face, “to keep threats from the north from invading.”

“China, you mean. You think you can help me to stand against him?” Nalin doesn’t laugh in his face, but it’s close.

“ _Bh_ \--India, what _choice_ do we have?” his tone is demanding that Nalin take him seriously.

“There are always choices,” he reminds him instead. And hadn’t Aahan or rather this boy been making his own selfish choices for half a century now? The sheer nerve, honestly, is what gets to him the most. “If your boss wants to talk with mines, then I won’t stop that. I can’t say that we view this in the same light, Pakistan.” He doesn’t say _You are my enemy as much as he is_ but it’s there on the tip of his tongue. He nods at the approaching American instead, “Why not talk to your new friend about your concerns? I hear he’s beyond eager to lead you a hand.”

If this has been a century ago, he might have said, “Be careful of the deals you make with Westerners. They mean us nothing but harm and always have. Did dealing with Arthur for all these years teach you nothing?”

Now, when America approaches, he leaves.

That child can drown in his own mistakes.

 

_1962_

The war teaches him a lot. He might have been defeated, but he didn’t lose what mattered most and he’s gained insight.

Yao is a _threat_ as he always knew he would be. And America’s aid means nothing when it’s only to stop Yao and he’s still making friends with Pakistan.

He’s tired of being beaten down.

He will get stronger.

He remembers those who helped him out, and he knows that that will come with its own expectations. Aid is not given without an expectation of a reward in this time.

 

_1963_

 

Admitting that he made a mistake isn’t something he does lightly. Admitting it to the USSR after a loud argument in the meeting room isn’t what he planned on doing.

But he uses his hands to brace himself up against the wall, while he’s shaking with anger as he tries to calm himself down. “This is _illegal_ , that is not his to give away. It doesn’t _belong_ to him. That bastard. And _that one_ knows exactly what he’s doing.”

“I know,” the man says.

“I could have stopped this,” he admits, and it feels like ripping off his fingernails, “He approached me first in the hopes of stopping Yao. And now this is going to give him, Pakistan, _ideas_. He’s going to use this against me. They’re going to try to destroy me, take what’s mines.”

“I will help you, comrade.”

The word _comrade_ doesn’t sit well with him, but he looks at him. A large white man with pale features who many in the world regain with suspicion and hate. Many are starting to look at him in the same way for associating constantly with him.

Some had even tried to warn him against forming an alliance with USSR.

 _Arthur_ had tried to warn him against it, “You don’t want to become friends with him. He will ruin you.” As if he needed Arthur’s advice or had asked for his opinions. As if Arthur had any right to try to determine what was _right_ for Nalin any longer. As if Arthur didn’t just want him to pick his proteges’ side.

“You can try,” he settles on saying, not wanting to anger him, and not wanting to bind himself too closely with him. He doesn’t want to tie his life to anyone ever again.

USSR looks disappointed.

 

_1965_

 

He hated when he was right. He hated that he was right about his brother’s ambitions. Kashmir. It was always, always going to be about Kashmir. It should belong outright fully to him, but that wasn’t how it had turned out.

Yao’s people made a show of threatening nuclear warfare on behalf of his brother. The foolish man was drunk on power with his newfound strength. Nalin hoped that when he fell, he fell hard and long.

At the time when he would have appreciated the help, USSR was silent on the matter.

At Tashkent, before he signed anything he pulls him aside.

“Why did you not help me?”

“This is not what you should do,” USSR gently says, “a constant fight over this land, for what?”

“He _attacked_ me. Even America understands that!”

“And you have won. Look at how eager his people are to sign. It is enough now. Be peaceful.”

He feels betrayed by him and by the movement he had helped to form. He doesn’t talk to him for a long time after. Let that show him how peaceful he could be.

 

_1971_

 

“Udit--Emran, what has _happened_ to you?” he doesn’t know where to look. His brother is a wreck of bruises, new and old, as he stands on his doorstep. He isnt’ even sure how he was still alive. Or even that he is, that he’s not just a ghost on his doorstep shivering in the warm air.

“This is what your son has done,” Emran sounds cold as he waits to be let into the house. Nalin welcomes him in, and tries to think of what to say.

“How did you come here?”

“I walked,” Emran says simply, “all the way here to ask for your help. My people are dying in the streets as we speak. I will have my freedom. I will be chained no longer to anyone. I will be my own master as you are yours. You _owe_ that to me.”

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” he says, trying to understand, failing to understand completely, “Then tell me your story.”

Emran does as he wraps bandages around his body. He makes up his mind as his younger brother speaks. This cannot continue. He cannot let this continue.

He will destroy the monster that he has let free into the world. He starts by uncovering everything that has happened to Emran’s people and revealing to the world. He wants to free his brother.

Emran is right, after all these long centuries of constant conquest, he deserves his own freedom once more.

 

“Help me,” he settles on saying. Purple eyes met his amber ones before a small smile comes to USSR’s face.

“‘Help me, Ivan’,” he says, “We are friends, hm?”

Nalin gives in, and it doesn’t feel too much like a defeat, but he cannot help the bitterness in his heart that starts slipping away as soon as it appeared. “Help me, Ivan. I want to protect what matters to me. I need your help because Yao has befriended America thanks to Pakistan, and I fear what will happen if I go to war against my brother. But I must save Emran.”

“I feel the same,” Ivan says, “I fear for you, and for this world if their influence spreads. I will help you, comrade, I will protect you. Let’s make an alliance.”

Ivan holds out a hand to him and his smile widens when Nalin shakes it.

He’ll hold out some faith that this will help.

 

To his surprise, once he’s signed the treaty, and once the war comes to his borders, Ivan more than delivers on his promises. He isn’t sure he could have been as successful without his help. The nuclear might in his ocean is concerning, but there are nuclear threats already coming from east of him, so he’s fine with it in the end. It’s nuclear power on his side. It’s Ivan putting pressure on Yao so that he doesn’t attack, stopping America and Arthur from reaching his shores to corner him, it’s _just_ _Ivan_ supporting him as he completely crushes his younger brother.

Emran is free as he hasn’t been in a long time. Nalin is thankful for that, and he’s thankful for the knowledge that soon he will join the world stage and be on par with all these other nuclear powers as talks start back up about the importance of nuclear might.

 

_1974_

 

He feels like he could do _anything_. No longer does he have to fear too heavily the threats of China against his country.

It isn’t fair that only a select few should be allowed to possess such weapons, after all.

But he understands as he stands witness to the testing just what this much power does to their kind. They aren’t like the humans. Humans don’t consider all the possibilities of what it _means_. The air tastes bitter afterwards, but he is thrilled.

War has never appealed to him. As long as his own interests are protected he is content. But the power shimmering in his blood gives him more courage. Let’s him know that come what may, he will be alright.

 

“Just be careful, friend,” Ivan advises when they meet.

“I’m not going to strike first. But I do need this for my own protection,” he stares down at the telegram from Francis and smiles just a bit. “You understand, of course.” It feels better to have people who understand speaking to him than the messages of betrayal from the North Americas being aimed his way.

“Of course. How could I not?” Ivan reads the telegram over his shoulder, and then taps on a line, “I feel the same, you will go far with this power, Nalin.”

“Yes,” he looks up at him and smiles, “And I thank you for your support.”

“We are friends,” Ivan stresses the word, “I must support you as that is what I want you to do for me.”

He takes Ivan’s hand and squeezes it, meaning each word as he speaks, “You are one of my greatest friends. I am honored that we have come to this.”

Ivan squeezes his shoulder and hugs him, muttering something to Nalin in Russian that Ivan thinks he won’t understand.

Words of gratitude.

 

_1980s_

 

Yao becomes less of a threat, and Nalin fears for what that means for their friendship. Ivan doesn’t seem to have any inclination towards letting him go. Nalin spends more time with him in his beautiful homeland than he’s spent anywhere else. There’s no expectations that Ivan has of him aside from continued support and affection.

He gives him all that he’s capable of feelings.

Nalin makes nicer with the Westerners as he hadn’t before. The world is moving onwards, and times have changed. It’s a dawning of a new age, and he intends to be there at each step to welcome it.

“Change is coming,” he announces to Ivan with a smile as they take a walk underneath the stars, safely home in his country, safely hidden away in his home. All threats dealt with and nothing needing immediate attention, at least on his end.

“Yes.” Ivan is silent and withdrawn. There is nothing he can do for his dear friend, besides hold his hand tighter and show him the stars that he grew up with. Change is coming, and with that means either death or survival.

Nalin does not think that Ivan will die, however pained his body is. It is the natural order of empires, each one will fall when it is time.

“You and I will always be friends,” he promises. What he doesn’t say is: _I love you like I have only loved my family_. “No matter what name your people unify themselves under, and no matter how many people you lose--you will always have me, and I will always have you. We have been connected, you and I.”

“Do you promise?” Ivan looks serious as he speaks, “Even if I can no longer offer you protection?”

“You are my friend, and if you become so weak that you need protecting, _I_ will protect you.”

Ivan looks reassured at that, “I wouldn’t mind dying if you mean that.”

“You’re not going to die.”

“Sometimes it feels like I will.”

“You will just be remade,” he says, and he means that as he squeezes his hand, “And nothing about my feelings for you will change.”

 

_20xx_

 

They are both in their own ways different from how they first met. People change after all; in good ways, bad ways, and strange ways. What Nalin wants from Ivan has not changed in the last few decades and he can’t imagine it ever will. Ivan, however, is not happy with his recent carrying-ons with America.

“Aren’t you the one who told me that America was not that bad? If you are jealous, you shouldn’t be. America is a fickle child, so I think his interest will wane soon.”

“What did you even talk about?”

“As a gift, he gave me some games that I never heard of from Japan. He was going to give me a system to play them as well until I showed him I owned one. I haven’t touched it much but I’m not completely behind the times thanks to Kiku.”

Ivan makes a thinking noise from the couch, but he doesn’t turn to look at what he’s doing. He’s probably wrapping and unwrapping his scarf. The scar it hides isn’t pretty, and it took years before he saw it. Nalin had to show him his own scars, to show him that he wasn’t alone in the pain he had to carry.

“What games did Alfred give you?”

“Really violent ones, he is still a child, after all. They’re by the movies.” He hears movement as he finishes setting up their snacks and then carries it into the living room. Ivan is examining his collection. “We can play one together, if you’d like.”

Ivan selects a game and he sets it up for them. They settle back on the couch and he balances popcorn in one hand and his finger on the directional keys on the other.

It’s easy to lose himself in the mindlessness of the game as Ivan wins more often than not. He doesn’t mind, finding his happiness instead in just being with him.

The state of the world has shifted, the balance of roles has changed as well. Rather than just someone who is supported, he has become someone who can support.

He wouldn’t give this up for anything.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nalin likes to pretend otherwise but he’s very reactive. When it’s matters concerning certain people, such as Akmal, he charges ahead and doesn’t think it through like he would if it were other people. He tends to react, think on his reactions, swear to do better next time, and then react badly the next time anyway. 
> 
> The idea that nuclear weapons give a short of rush to nations is an interesting headcanon I’m working on.
> 
> As far as RusInd goes, I ship it in any and all types of ways. For the purpose of my own agenda, I kept any references to sex or romance out of this fic. What’s my agenda? To fill the India tag on AO3 with all the various types of relationships that India can have that aren’t romantic by default. 
> 
> Minor note: Nalin’s relationships with characters who are mentioned but not shown are as follows.
> 
> With Arthur it’s like “I’m not going to let you tell me what to do like makes you think you have the right.” With Francis it’s like “You’re sweet thanks.” With Kiku, there’s literally this thing where they’re both dedicated to standing guard against Yao, but they’re both pretty chill with each other. I like to imagine Kiku’s the one who introduced him to the world of gaming.


	2. Conquest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Akmal has a long way to go to get the future he wants for him and his people.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We saw how India viewed Pakistan’s actions during this time, so here’s how Pakistan really felt. 
> 
> I don’t know if this is obvious or not, but I’m going to outright state this (for people who don’t follow the Indiacanon blog and haven’t seen me post this like millions of times): Nalin is an unreliable narrator of events. He won’t directly mention things that paint him in a bad or questionable light. I’ve tried to show this multiple times throughout the stories written thus far. Here, I give you Akmal’s view on matters. This is not to say that Akmal doesn’t have his own bias, and that either of them can be firmly shoved into “Good” or “Bad”.

_1947_

 

India had taken _everything_. For all that he felt he was due something for the long years he had been under the same rule as him, he had gotten nothing. All he had to depend on was himself, his people, and the fact that he would remain free. The only person deciding his fate would be himself.

“You shouldn’t glare at him so much,” Udit, Emran says from next to him. He is unhappy with the current situation. He probably feels he should be the representative for the nation. But these were _Akmal’s_ people. He could feel it in his body, and no one was going to change this.

If this was what Nalin-- _India_ \--had felt all these long centuries, Akmal understands why he did not want to give it up, until it was too late and it had been taken from him.

Just looking at the older man makes him want to dance with victory. He looks weak and broken. Pathetic.

“I’ll do what I want, and you’ll do what I say,” he settles on.

“We are equals in this. I am not your underling.”

“You will do what I say,” he says that in closing, and turns his attention to the instructions his boss had sent for him to accomplish. He is not sure how to do any of this. He doesn’t know how to approach any of his fellow nations.

He wasn’t taught any of this. First _India_ had kept him at his side, but not explained anything, and Arthur wasn’t the type to _bother_ with matters like that. He is on his own.

It is terrifying, but at the same time he has never felt freer.

 

_1950_

 

The invitation comes as a surprise. But he accepts it because his people need it. The power that America can offer is not one to be turned down so lightly. He feels a kinship with him. They both want the same things.

He boards the plane, and is on his way.

America is breathtaking, and he wants what this nation has done for itself for his people.

“I’m Alfred F. Jones,” the nation says, and he hits him on the back. Akmal isn’t so easily moved, but the force behind the blow shakes him. “Ops, sorry about that, forget my own strength sometimes!”

“I’m okay,” and he is, he’s endured worst, “I’m Pakistan.”

“I know _that_ ,” America says, “But I don’t know your actual name.”

“I’m Akmal Farooq,” he says after a moment, almost adding in _Aahan_ in there. His name doesn’t get a negative or confused tilt of the head like amongst his family. America nods and offers him his hand.

“Call me Alfred, or Al, and I’ll call you Akmal.”

He’s demanding a familiarity that Akmal doesn’t want to give--but what choice does he truly have? He shakes his hand, “It is nice to meet you, Alfred.”

“Dude,” Alfred releases his hand and continues to ignore the people surrounding them, demanding all attention on him, “I am going to take you out and show you the town. You are going to love it!”

As he looks into those wild blue eyes, he wonders how this guy could possibly have won the last war. But he gives his consent, and he’s drawn out into the best that the city has to offer. He loves it, each and every last minute of it. He is completely won over in the course of a few years.

 

_1954_

 

“You don’t have to worry about a thing anymore, Akmal. We’re going to get your soldiers all up to par. You’re going to be kicking commie ass in like no time flat!”

A voice that almost sounds like India whispers to him that he should be more careful. So he reads over the defense treaty as best he can with Alfred tossing ideas of what they should do next at him every other minute. Nothing is impossible at that moment, it seems.

He signs his name, and Alfred instantly signs his as well.

“Also, dude, you’ve got to check out these new Atlas comics, okay? We can read some later, but let’s go out and go listen to some music.” Business dealt with, Alfred is all smiles and excited, and passionate. Akmal doesn’t even have to fake his interest in hanging out with him. He goes along willingly.

 

It’s only a benefit that when he has to see India again at the world meeting, there’s a frown on his face when he notices how good of friends he and Alfred have gotten.

_See? I can do this all on my own._

 

_1961_

 

China is a threat. He knows it well, especially given the tension between India and China, that he needs to keep himself safe. If war breaks out, he’ll be caught in the middle of it.

He approaches his brother after one of the meetings. Already his face closes off in that distant look, and he hates it. He already knows that nothing he says will get through to him, but he _tries_ which is more than he can say for India.

“What is it that you need?”

“We need to work together,” he fights to keep his voice calm, to not let India trip him up and make him lash out in anger. He doesn’t need Mr. UN scolding him again. “To keep threats from the north from invading.”

“China, you mean. You think you can help me to stand against him?” India has that look that says that he’s one second from a hard laugh. Akmal wishes he didn’t know him so well, even after all this time.

“ _Bh_ \--India, what _choice_ do we have?” he demands. He doesn’t want to be overran by China, and he knows India doesn’t want that either. His brother needs to let go of his pride before they’re both destroyed. But of course he won’t. His eyes don’t say that anything Akmal has said has gotten through. He never listens.

“There are always choices,” his brother says, and he sounds bitter as he steps back, “If your boss wants to talk with mines, then I won’t stop that. I can’t say that we view this in the same light, Pakistan.”

Before he can speak, to demand that they have to see this in the same light or else, his brother steps back some more and looks behind him with a mocking smile.

“Why not talk to your new friend about your concerns? I hear he’s beyond eager to lead you a hand.”

There’s an implication there that India is making that he starts to grasp but loses as India turns and leaves, leaving their conversation unfinished.

“Making nice with India? That’s pretty smart of you,” Alfred says as he looks at India’s retreating back.

“He is a fool,” he settles on saying, “There’s no way to make nice with him.”

“You sure about that?”

“I lived with him for a long time. He is as unchanging as the sun. Once he has decided on something, that is that. No one else can ever be right if it would mean he is wrong,” he gets angrier as he speaks, “If it would mean I was _right_ and he was _wrong_ then he would make it so I was _wrong_ so he could be _right_.”

“Is he really that bad?”

“He is worst,” Akmal states, “I hope he gets beaten and sees how right I am.”

 

_1962_

 

When he gets the news that India _lost_ , he isn’t sure what to think at first. But then he knows what he must do. He must protect himself, no matter what. No matter how uncomfortable it makes him.

He approaches China with the congratulations on beating his brother and expresses his admiration of the other man.

China’s eyes are full of calculations when he considers him. He accepts his thanks with grace that Akmal thinks he or India stole from one another. Maybe it’s something you pick up after thousands of years. It’s certainly nothing Arthur had.

“I suppose you’re concerned that I will come after you next,” China says casually, and then makes no efforts to say that he won’t.

“I wanted to take this chance to thank you for putting my brother in his place, like I said, he needed to be taught a lesson.”

China laughs, “He did go beyond himself. But so did I. Nalin is not one to take this lightly.”

He shifts uneasily when his brother’s name is uttered so casually, “That doesn’t matter. I think we should take this chance to settle some of our possible conflicts.”

When China doesn’t speak, he continues, “Our borders, I mean. I think we can work something out.”

When he looks at China again, the other man has a slight smile on his face, “I’m listening.”

 

_1963_

 

India completely loses it when the announcement is made, when he settles his eyes on the map. He didn’t think his brother had this much strength but his jaw aches from the punch. He grimaces, and meets him hit for hit. If this is what it means to be considered a civilized nation, then he’ll accept it.

“That is not _yours_ to give away!” India shouts as he’s pulled away by that soviet bastard. Alfred has a firm hold on his fist, and he tries to find himself, to remember where he is. People are staring and this is not the impression he should be making.

But how dare he put his hands on him? He’s angrier than he’s been in a long time.

“It is _mines_.”

India shoots him one last angry glare before he’s forced out of the room at USSR’s urging.

“You guys really do hate each other,” Alfred sounds like he hadn’t believed him all these years. Akmal gives him an exasperated look.

“Well, if that’s enough to get him to lose his temper, I should have talked with you a long time ago,” China offers. He had watched in silence but now he steps forward, “You should put some ice on that. Come.”

He accepts the hand on his shoulder for what it is, an extension of good will.

He accepts the bruise on his face for what it is, an admission that India is not as steady as he likes to portray.

If he plans this just right, then just maybe, maybe . . .

 

_1965_

 

“Dude! What the _hell_!” Alfred sounds completely horrified. Akmal isn’t sure what the blond was expecting. Then again, he isn’t sure what he was expecting. He just might have bit off more than he could handle, and now his body was paying the price. It’s hard to focus at any rate.

“What do you mean ‘what the hell’, where were you at, man? I thought you were supposed to support me!”

“I’m not going to support you if you _start_ the war, moron,” Alfred is pissed. He’s pissed, as well.

“That’s not how it’s supposed to work--.”

“I’m here to help you with keeping your freedom, not fighting against your brother over a piece of land,” Alfred’s voice is flat, and he’s frowning, “That’s not how this is going to work, you can’t just do these things, dude.”

 

China is more sympathetic to his loss.

 

_1971_

 

He comes home one night to find it completely dark. He has been forced to share his home with Emran since they were divided as West and East Pakistan. He doesn’t think too much of it, as sometimes Emran goes to East Pakistan to talk with his leaders. They might both be Pakistan, but sometimes it’s like they’re in two different countries. His people are the ones running the show, so he’s content.

Then winter turns to spring, and everything goes to hell. He becomes what he’s never wanted to become. What he _feared_ as a child. Emran wants to break apart his country, to become his own. He can’t allow that. He _won’t_ allow it. He pleads with him to stay.

“We are safer together,” he says, and it sounds like an ironic echo.

Emran looks at him with nothing but disgust, “My people starve while yours grow fatter. I will not stay.”

It hurts to hear that, like that he has been born into a family where history will do nothing but repeat itself, over and over until something _changes_. But they are not a family that changes so easily. “If you keep talking like this, your people will die.”

“It’s far too late for your threats,” Emran shakes free of his grasp, his handprints plain on his thin skin. His body is weakened by his declaration, but his eyes are firm, looking straight ahead at what he sees as his future. “My people will die either way.”

“They will only die faster this way,” he tries to force him to stay, tries to bind him with his words, with his hands, but Emran doesn’t listen.

Akmal’s words fall on deaf ears.

People die because of his stubbornness. Emran’s refusal to give in.

Emran disappears from the city, and when he gets word of him next, it is in press and documents showing what his government is doing to Emran’s. The person to reveal all, to bring shame to him, is none other than India.

He has never hated his brother more.

 

China offers him empty words to try to comfort him. He goes about his other duties with difficulties. He is just waiting on the word on what to do about India interfering. About Emran’s seeking of independence.

He helps manufacture a meeting between China and America.

He waits.

 

India signs a friendship treaty with USSR and Pakistan knows that he needs to move and soon. Alfred offers his support, and China does as well. He does his best to get China to his proper role in return for that. It’s a nice distraction from his own issues.

“You are busy with your own affairs and yet you’ve done so much for my sake,” China sounds a bit puzzled, and amused, “Thank you.”

“It’s the least I can do,” he says, and he means it. He is going crazy with the constant fighting, and he needs to keep busy.

“I truly do appreciate it,” China pauses for a moment and then smiles one of the most beautiful smiles that Akmal has seen from him yet, “Akmal.”

“Then, may I call you by your name as well?”

“You can. We will be friends from now on, won’t we?”

 

The winter sees his country’s surprise attack failing, and India attacking with a vengeance. It’s hard to keep up with what’s going on in other parts of the country as he tries his best to keep fighting.

He soon realizes that India’s revealing of the truth and the lack of contact during these months did nothing but increase how angry his brother is with him.

His army is losing, Alfred cannot reach him to help him, Yao cannot move for fear of retaliation from the north.

The gun in his brother’s hand is steady has it hasn’t been in a long time as it presses against his forehead.

“It always comes to this, doesn’t it?” he tries to hide his nervousness as he waits to see what India will do.

“After what you did to Emran, how can you even consider yourself human?”

“You are the last person who should say that to me. After what I suffered through--.”

“I will own up to my mistakes,” India interrupts him, “You can’t be allowed to continue on like this.”

He doesn’t get a chance to respond before his world goes black before he can even register that the trigger has been pulled.

 

When he comes back to life, the war is over. Emran’s freedom has been secured and the documents are only holding for his signature which they make him sign immediately. He has a large bullet wound just above his heart, and his head is wrapped in bandages. Two shots, as if India had _executed_ him. This is the price of Emran’s freedom. He can’t think of his brother without feeling sick. He is ridden with guilt over everything. He never meant for any of this to happen. He didn’t realize how bad it had been in the east, he was so foolish, no wonder Emran wanted to be free.  

But ignorance can never really truly be an excuse.

_“I will own up to my mistakes.”_

India had said that, but Akmal doesn’t think that sentiment will last very long.

 

“You were dead, friend,” Yao says, “I am sorry I could not help. My hands were tied.”

“It is fine,” he can’t work up much energy for anger, or anything really, “I will just have to be more careful in the future. He was more ready than I imagined.”

“It would be better if you didn’t fight him, but yes, in the future take care.”

Alfred doesn’t check in on him, so he busies himself with getting to know Yao, and soon they are the talk of the meetings.

 

_1970s_

 

India successfully tests nuclear weapons, and he’s never felt more afraid for his life.

Alfred is unsympathetic, “If he acts then I’ll take care of it, just like I would for Ivan.”

“By bombing him, you mean. Think about how that would impact my country as well!”

“All you have to do is follow along with what I say,” Alfred is eager, but his smiles aren’t the same as they once were. They haven’t been for a long time now.

Akmal hates him more than he’s hated anyone in that moment for that casual betrayal.

 

His people begin their own nuclear research. Driven entirely by India’s display, they promise to catch up. His brother carries himself in a different way now. It’s not too dissimilar to Yao. He wants to be able to carry himself in that way. He won’t let India have everything any longer. He won’t be left behind.

The chinese man takes him underneath his wing, offers him more support without strings attached than Alfred, America, will ever do again. Admiration and respect turn into affection for him.

Yao doesn’t correct his manner of dealing with his fellow nations, doesn’t offer snide remarks, doesn’t look at him with pity, doesn’t try to force Akmal to his will. He accepts him as he is, with a gentle smile and a hand on his shoulder.

It is in being friends with Yao that he comes to understand that this is what friends should be like. This is what family should be like.

This is what a brother should be like.

 

If he measures his level of success by how disgusted India looks with him at any one time, then he knows he’s doing right. Anything that increases his brother’s discomfort only means that he’s on the right path. He holds Yao’s hand openly as the man points out things on the agenda during the world meetings. He lets himself be caught along in his excitement over the changes approaching the world.

 

“Nalin did a disservice to you,” Yao says once, “He should not have neglected your education in nation matters like this.”

“I’ve done well on my own,” he had to teach himself everything from the ground up, but his people are alive, and his country has not been broken apart. He has not had to return to India, defeated and _wrong_ for leaving like his brother said he would once upon a time.

“Yes,” Yao smiles at him, “and I am proud that you have.”

Yao says the words so easily, as if it is nothing to admit that.

 

_1990s_

 

Change comes and while it’s not what they expected, he can accept it. Gone are the days when he fought side-by-side with America. Now, they regard each other with suspicion and he swears that he doesn’t know who feels more betrayed. America acts if none of this can be blamed on his manipulations, and all of it is Akmal’s fault. He is tired of people like that.

He’s being made out to be the villain in the world that his brother is taking a central part in creating. He won’t stand for it.

“You’re not a villain,” Yao reassures him, and he loves him for doing so much for him when he is under distress himself.

“We’re both villains in the eyes of the world, bhai.”

But that is fine, he knows what he’s going to do. The steps have already been decided.

“I will do what I must to protect my people.”

“Then I will be here to support you as well.”

 

Yao binds himself to Akmal, and instead of feeling trapped and put upon, he feels freer. Having someone on his side who is dependable and as unmoving as a mountain, gives him strength. Come what may--shifting policies, changing demographics, the promise of democracy--he knows that Yao will be there for him as no one else has ever been before. He puts him first, knowing that even as things change in the world, he doesn’t have to fear displacement.

 

_20xx_

 

“You have no one to blame but yourself for the way things are now,” he stops before he comes around the corner. Yao sounds dismissive and the person who responds sounds equally so.

“We create our own monsters, I suppose,” India says. Akmal can just picture his face, eyes cold, and lips tight as he speaks, words spat out because he’s done with the topic and ready to move on.  

“Batie is not a monster.”

 _So they’re talking about me._ He chooses to listen, even knowing he might hear something that hurts him. He has faith in Yao.

“I know that. I do not need his lover to tell me this. Come what may, things will shift and change. If he ever stops hating me as much as he does, maybe then things will change.”

“You will need to stop hating Akmal first.”

“I am old, _we_ are old, Yao, you and I. We have lived for such a long time; that to sum up my feelings in a word as simple as _hate_ doesn’t do it justice. I am tired, I will admit that to you. Can you not see it in my eyes that I am tired of this all? This constant stress that I will wake up to news once more that my younger brother has attacked me? It is an exhausting way to live. But my hands are tied, and _hatred_ or not, Aahan, Pakistan is a brat and that is a fact that has not changed.”

“Things have changed.” He can’t help but see that Yao doesn’t counter the _brat_ part of India’s statement.

“Yes, they have. And now I must go before America corners me to show me comic books or whatever it is that has captured his attention this week.”

 “I think a new Lord of the Rings movie came out.”

“That is my cue to _leave_. Goodbye, Yao.”

He waits until he doesn’t hear the tell-a-tale swish of cloth, and then rounds the corner to stand at Yao’s side.

“I don’t hate him,” he says, and it’s true. He doesn’t hate him as much as he did in 1930. Now he simply doesn’t understand his older brother, and now he is tired of fighting him. He wants peace for once, as there has so rarely been on their subcontinent. “I don’t want to keep fighting him. But sometimes I just look at his face and I want to punch him a few good times.”

Yao doesn’t seem surprised that he was listening in, “Then show that to him, batie.”

“Show him that I want to punch him a few times? Last time I did that Mr. UN yelled at us.”

“Ah, didn’t you just come to a ceasefire?” Yao doesn’t sound exactly disapproving, but his tone is just enough to make him sigh.

“Show him that I don’t want to keep fighting him,” he tries to downplay how nervous that makes him feel, “How?”

“Send him flowers,” Yao suggests, and he can’t tell if he’s being serious or not.

“Send him bribes, you mean.”

“No,” Yao frowns at the air, and then smiles at him, “Send him gifts. He likes that sort of thing.”

Akmal knows he does, and so he considers that.

He sends an anonymous gift that he’s sure will get lost in the rush of gifts Nalin will get for his birthday. He doesn’t expect anything to come of it.

To his surprise there is an anonymous gift waiting for him the next year at his birthday. It continues year after year, and so he continues as well, until it becomes a tradition.

 

He doesn’t change in the way most nations do. He didn’t have a start in the way most nations did. He changes because to stay as he was would only lead to his death. He changes because that is what it means to survive.

But he has friends who care for him, and who hold his hand when he gets stressed. Who know what to say when he is lost, and who stand by his side in all things. He lives. He makes it. He’s still here, and that’s what matters to him, that he continues existing, that his people continue on. That he remains free. He has conquered everything that stood opposed to him. And he will not lose.

Now, he takes Yao’s hand, and Yao squeezes it back as Akmal listens to him go on about change, and the foolishness of his younger siblings. To be a friend means that sometimes he just needs to listen.

And that is something he can do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An interesting concept is how try as he might, Akmal still ends up sounding and doing things that are much like how Nalin would do or react to things. Part of the reason why they fight so much is because they know each other far too well, and _they are very much alike_. They don’t always agree on subjects, but the reasons why might be because Nalin might have already considered the idea Akmal has expressed and it didn’t work out so he’s not going to try again--but to Akmal it’s a brand new idea that hasn’t been tried yet, so why wouldn’t it work out? 
> 
> Akmal mostly aligned himself with other Muslim nations during his earlier years, and worried about the communists at his doorstep, and India at his back. He had a choice to make and he made it, and while it was out of necessity at the time, his attempted conquest of Yao was one of the smartest moves he made. But it’s like “who really seduced whom?” 
> 
> As for if their relationship is sexual or not, interpret that however you want. ”China-Pakistan relations are bounded in bonds of brotherhood. Their relations are deeper than the seas, dearer than eyesight, higher than mountains and sweeter than honey.” _Batie_ is a common nickname for Pakistan in China. 
> 
> While writing this I kept on calling Al and Akmal’s friendship a bromance on twitter. If Ivan putting the moves on Nalin was akin to a courtship, Alfred’s moves towards Akmal were more of a conquest. He needed the support of as many nations as he could get, and with USSR already going after India, he choose Pakistan. He awed him with all that America had to offer and said “This can be yours, I can make this yours.” But you know, there was a price to that. Rules to follow. We see how well that works out. Right now relations with America-Pakistan are like ‘what are you DOING bro’. Mild exasperation and annoyance on both parts. _It’s a Scary World Out There_ shows that pretty darn well I think for me having written that first and this second.


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